


i hear it call in the center of it all (you're the love of my life)

by ruthedotcom



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A Proposal, Established Relationship, F/M, Fitz's point of view, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/pseuds/ruthedotcom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'They’ve talked about marriage before, but it’s always been more abstract. More, “if I get married…” But there had been one time when Jemma had been talking about weddings with Skye and Bobbi, and she went, “when I get married…” and had looked at him for a second. It was literally a second, the smallest little indication of what she’d been thinking, but he decided to take that as his sign. He’d been preparing ever since.'</p>
<p>A proposal of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4, 3, 2

**Author's Note:**

> For the anonymous ask, concerning this list of prompts (http://ruthedotcom.tumblr.com/post/107030224317), and some of Sarah's (leofitzlionheart) headcanons.

“You know, Coulson doesn’t give us much holiday time.”

She snorts. “You mean he doesn’t give us _any_ holiday time.”

He smiles up at the ceiling, fingers idly running through her hair. His arm is falling asleep from where her head is laying on it, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s fantastic; the feeling that blooms in his chest every time she so much as breathes against him makes up for the numbness of his limbs. He’s exploding with feeling everywhere else.

“Do you think he’d let us, if we asked?” he says. He feels her chin tilt against his chest, so he drops his head down to meet her gaze.

“Honestly? He might,” she replies. “Why? Where are you planning on going?”

He shrugs, and she shifts onto her stomach, folding her arms and leaning against them on top of him. “I want to take you out,” he tells her.

“Oh, really?” Her eyes light up, amused, and he loves doing that to her, bringing out that visible happiness. She glows when she’s happy. And in moments like this, when it’s just them in his room, the soft beginnings of a sunrise glinting from the window, and they can pretend their life isn’t usually in danger or on the edge of unhinging completely, she’s radiant.

“Yeah. This weekend, just for the day. You and me. Wear that one green dress, yeah?”

She smiles widely and leans forward to kiss him quickly. “If Coulson lets us, I promise to wear it.” And he’s about to lean down to kiss her again, when she looks over at his night stand. “What time is it? I have to check the samples at 6:35.”

He frowns, tugging her up to him so he can press his face into her shoulder. “Bacteria can wait.”

She’s laughing, but he knows she’s just rolled her eyes. “You know they’re time sensitive, Fitz. And if I ruin this batch, I’ll have to order more, and Coulson will _definitely_ not let us—“

He groans, drowning out the rest of her sentence with the sound, as he pulls his hands away from around her, so he can check the time on his watch. But he’s met with a bare wrist instead.

“What the—“ he starts, and then sits up and gets off the bed. Jemma calls to him, but he’s already searching the floor, kicking various bits of clothes around in the process. When had he had time to throw the stupid thing off? It made no sense… He turns around and something glints, just under his bed. “A _ha_.” He gets down on one knee and snags his watch from its spot (“how the _hell…_ ”) before turning to look at Jemma again, smiling in victory.

But when he looks at her, he finds that her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly open. It’s not exactly alarming, but he also doesn’t understand the look. And that’s saying something—after a year of dating, and over a decade of friendship before that, Fitz was pretty sure he’d seen and could understand just about every Jemma Simmons expression.

“Jemma?” he asks softly, and all of a sudden she smiles and sighs.

“Fitz?” she says back, biting her lip.

He glances down at the watch, and he wants to punch the air in glee. When his eyes meet Jemma’s again, they’re both grinning like idiots. “It’s 4:15,” he says.

And then, almost like if he’d taken a needle and punctured a balloon, she deflates, the corners of her lips turning down. It’s only a second, but he catches it before she gives him another smile.

“Brilliant,” she tells him, “come back to bed.” And she turns over so that he’s left with a sight of her back.

Fitz sits there, switching between looking at her back and his watch, before he shakes his head and gets up, fixing his watch around his wrist before sliding in and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I’ll ask Coulson today,” he mutters, and she hums in response.  He’s suddenly glad that she’s turned away, because she’d ask him why he’s smiling so big, and he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Coulson doesn’t agree, because he really can’t wait that much longer.

(He’s half ecstatic and half in agony when Coulson agrees. Ecstatic, because he’s been putting this plan together for a while now, and he thinks that if he doesn’t get it out, he’ll explode. But also agony, because he has to wait _four whole days_ to do it, and he just knows he won’t be able to think about anything else until then.  But he’s waited for Jemma Simmons for this long, so what’s four days, really, in the long run?)

\---------------------

**Four More Days**

It’s bloody agony, apparently.

Coulson had told Jemma and him to keep the outing quiet, because he couldn’t have all his agents come ask for days off all at once (“Actually,” he had told him, “I’m surprised you two took so long to ask. Skye’s been to the Bahamas twice by now.” _That_ explained why agents were gone at random times. Fitz swore he would never get used to the way people keep secrets in SHIELD). Keeping quiet isn’t that hard, especially since it’s usually just the two of them in the lab together, so there’s no real danger of them being overheard while they discuss the upcoming freedom.

Except, it is for _him_ , because this is supposed to be the moment. The moment of moments. The part where they take their relationship to the next level.

They’ve talked about marriage before, but it’s always been more abstract. More, “ _if_ I get married…” But there had been one time when Jemma had been talking about weddings with Skye and Bobbi, and she went, “ _when_ I get married…” and had looked at him for a second. It was literally a second, the smallest little indication of what she’d been thinking, but he decided to take that as his sign. He’d been preparing ever since.

But now, even though he’s got the plan, and the ring, and he’s been playing with words a little (he still shakes and stutters when he gets any surge of emotion, but he’s found that muscle memory is always the best solution, so he’s been practicing the speech and the kneeling), he has to wait. Somehow, knowing that he’s set a day to do it does not make him feel any better. He’s torn between wanting to get it all over with right then and there, and wanting to call the whole thing off because he’s sure he’ll completely screw it up.

(Not to mention, he’s still not sure if he’s read her signals right.)

Oh, the _agony_.

He over turns a beaker when his hands start shaking a little. Jemma walks over and picks it up, giving him an inquiring look. “Are you alright, Fitz?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah, yeah… Just, y’know, excited. About this weekend.”

She beams at him, returning his nod. “Me, too. Did you have any particular plans?”

He shrugs, and goes to pick up his screw driver when he realizes that he’s now shaking more obviously and he needs to not do something that won’t give him away. So he starts cracking his knuckles instead. “I have a few, yeah,” is all he says.

“Like?” She’s put her goggles on, now, and he’s beyond thankful. It means she’s not really paying attention. This is good. Science is always the best thing to use in hopes of distracting Jemma.

“I was thinking we’d go explore DC a little. We’ve lived in the US for so long now, but we’ve never been to the capitol, even now that we live right here.”

She nods, eyes on her microscope. “Yeah, it’s a shame. Although, the weather right now’s pretty frightful—rain and all that. You sure you don’t want to go somewhere warm?”

“No, I don’t mind the cold.”

She laughs. “Yeah, but I do. We could go to the Bahamas, see why Skye liked it so much to go twice?”

He scrunches his nose. How was he supposed to tell her that they had to stay right here without having her raise questions and give the whole thing away? “You know, if it’s anything like Hawaii, it’s not that great,” he says, and he’s not sure if he’s lying.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not a fan of getting sunburnt, is what I am.”

“You could always put on—“

“—sun protection, yeah,” he cuts her off, leaning against the table next to where her head was still focused on whatever specimen was under the lens. “But if we only have one day, we shouldn’t waste it flying across the country, don’t you think? We’ll go next time, when we take a longer holiday.”

Jemma stills, and then slowly looks up at him. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Hopefully.”

“You’re already planning a second holiday?”

Fitz shrugs again. “I meant theoretically, Jemma. Anyway—“ he shakes his hand in the air. It’s stopped shaking once he felt like he’s gotten the situation under control. “Let’s stay local this time, yeah?”

Jemma seems to be thinking about something, but then she drops her head back to the microscope. “Yeah, alright. For this time, at least. I get to pick next.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “Whatever you want.”

She glances up at him for another second again before smiling easily and telling him to hand her the notebook by his elbow.

(If this is how easy it is to get her to agree to something, he might just convince her to marry him, after all.)

\-----------------------

**Three More Days**

“You’d think that, after being at this base for so long, we’d have found all the secret tunnels,” Bobbi says, picking up another box full of whatever and placing it on the ground. Fitz had been in the lab working, when Coulson had asked him to come open up a lock (“why don’t you ask Mack to do it?” “The last time I did, he blew half the room in. I need delicacy.” “Are you calling me delicate, sir?” “I’m calling you what I need. Now get to work.”), and Jemma had followed after (“is it another box of Peggy Carter’s things?!?”).

“Hey, the whole of SHIELD went down, and they didn’t know this was a base,” Coulson reminds Bobbi, stacking the box in his arms on top of another. “There’s bound to be a few surprises.”

“More like a million,” Lance grumbles, dropping another box to the ground.

“We should start sorting through these, get an inventory. FitzSimmons, are you free?”

“Of course, sir,” Jemma answers for them, and Fitz holds back a snort. He is pretty sure she loves Peggy Carter more than she loves science; she’d do anything if it was somehow linked to the first Agent of SHIELD.

“Good. Start with those, they’re the lightest.” He points to the corner of the room, where half a dozen boxes look unwelcoming.

The idea of sorting all of that gives Fitz a headache. Jemma senses that he’s going to take his sweet time making his way over to the corner, so she grabs his hand and tugs him along, telling him not to be so silly.

The only one being silly is _her_ , though; she immediately opens up a box, all wide eyed and gasping with wonder, as she pulls out what appears to be old spy gadgets, kind of like the ones that Trip showed the team so long ago. These were more targeted towards women agents, though—lipstick lasers and brooches with small hidden cameras in them. Jemma puts on an old hot pink hat, giving Fitz a playful smile as she poses for him.

Okay, _maybe_ sorting isn’t that bad. Especially when he’s not so much sorting as he is watching his girlfriend be her adorable self. “Who’s silly now?” he mutters, but he doesn’t want her to stop; they hardly ever get to be so carefree, and it’s a bloody shame, because Jemma Simmons is about the most wonderful thing in the world. There’d be a lot less rainy days if she could smile like this more often. He’s pretty sure her atoms were made up of sunlight at one point.

“Oh, look! Here’s a couple of old rings!” Jemma shows him a box of rusty old rings like it’s a box of pearls. “They’re for self defense,” she explains when he picks one up. “You push right here, do you see? On the edge… and whoop! A needle comes out.” Sure enough, from under the hideous gem, a small little pointy stick appears. “They used to put poison on them or some form of chloroform to knock someone out.”

Bobbi appears at Fitz’s side then, holding another box. “Another light load for you two,” she tells them, and then her face lights up when she notices what Jemma is holding. “Are those the knock-out rings?” She doesn’t wait for Jemma to answer before she’s sitting next to her and taking the box from her hands.

Fitz shakes his head, laughing to himself. Peggy Carter fanatics are taking over his life.

“I can see why these went out of style,” Bobbi comments, holding her hand out to examine the ring on her finger.

“They’re not the most inconspicuous, are they?” Jemma agrees. “But they had to be bulky, otherwise the needle wouldn’t be successfully hidden.”

Bobbi points her finger down and the ring instantly slides off. “Who could even wear these? I don’t know anyone who has fingers this big.”

“Just because you’ve got tiny fingers, doesn’t mean normal people do.”

The three of them turn around at the sound of Lance’s voice. He gives Bobbi a head jerk. “Come on, then. No time for dress up. There’s still loads of boxes, and barley a load of us.” Not waiting for Bobbi to respond, he walks off.

Bobbi gives Jemma a sly grin, picking up a ring again and exposing the needle. “Do you think there’s still something on here?” Jemma laughs. “Nevermind, I can’t even put this on my finger. It’s the size of a toothpaste tube. What is this, ring size 10, maybe? Five sizes too big for either of us, I’m afraid,” she tells Jemma with a sad smile.

“ _More_ than that,” Fitz adds. “Jemma’s ring size is barely 3.5.” He opens up another box, this one containing files. “It’s a bloody nightmare trying to find jewelry in her size—except necklaces, I suppose. But everyone has a neck, so…” He looks up when he realizes he’s just rambled on and no one has stopped him.

Bobbi is giving him a smile, but it makes him uncomfortable. It’s the smile she uses when she’s interrogating people and wants to lure them into a false sense of trusting her. Jemma, though, is giving him another expression entirely; she looks caught between incredulous disbelief and a face-splitting grin. “What? I’m _assuming_ everyone has a neck, based on my experience with people, but…”

“I’ve never seen anything different,” Bobbi finishes for him. She’s still eyeing him in a way he’s growing to hate. “Did you get that necklace for Jemma, then?” She points to the one that Jemma’s currently holding between her fingers.

“Yes, he did,” Jemma beams at the two of them. “He made it, actually.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Fitz says, half heartedly. “I can make things that aren’t weapons, too, you know.”

Bobbi nods, and the smile she gives him this time is more genuine. “I believe that.” Scratch that, there’s an edge to her voice. Before he can say anything, she gets up and tosses the box of old rings to him. “Maybe you can fix these up. Might come in handy…” she trails off, exactly when Lance’s voice calls for her again. “See you.” She waves and is off.

“If I hadn’t known better,” Jemma tells him, “I’d have sworn they were still married.”

He laughs. It’s true. They’re the most married divorced couple in the history of the world.

They go back to sorting for the next two hours; Jemma takes over, directing Fitz about where to put everything, and he only teases her about being so bossy a few times (they both know she’s the bossy one. Always has been. But he’s accepted it. It works out better for him, anyway). Coulson comes over after a while to get a glimpse at what they’ve found, see if anything is helpful or useful in any way. Fitz isn’t surprised that Jemma and Coulson spend a significant part of half an hour discussing when Peggy Carter could have used which weapon on what mission (he wonders for a second if _he_ has someone he talks about the way that Coulson has Captain America and Jemma has Peggy. It’s Jemma, he decides. Do not get him started talking about Jemma, or he’ll never stop).

Finally, his stomach grumbles so loudly, May eyes him from across the room. It’s all the permission he needs. “Come on,” he tells Jemma, dragging her up to her feet. “Time to eat.”

She half heartedly agrees, but promises Coulson she’ll be back.

They link fingers as they walk down the hallway to the kitchen. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so it’s not very busy right now at the base, and the hallway is all but empty. “I’m sorry I got carried away,” Jemma starts, “I know you wanted to test the new serum today—“

“No, its fine,” he says, waving his hand a bit. “Some of that spy gear was rather fascinating.”

That’s all the encouragement she needs. “I know! I hope we can salvage some of it, find a way to repurpose them if we can’t fix them. You can fix them, right?” She goes off to list some of the more banged up pieces and suggestions on how he can fix them. “Although, I suppose the old rings will take a _significant_ more time, being oddly shaped and all…”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies, looking down to notice that his shoelace has come undone. Maybe if he walks slowly, it wouldn’t unravel further…. “I might end up making one from scratch, though, if the rust has damaged it too much.” He holds up their linked fingers, turning his palm until her hand is the one on top, and then stretches his fingers so that they’re no longer curled. “Be my model?” he says playfully. Fitz is basically strolling at this point, but his shoelace doesn’t get the message. It’s all but untied.

Jemma claps his fingers again, clearly amused. “If I have to,” she relents.

“We’ll probably only have time to get started on them next week.”

“What? Why?”

“We’ll be gone this weekend.”

“Oh, right.”

They’ve reached the kitchen, but he tugs her to a stop. “Hold on, Jemma.” If he’s going to be holding food, he wants to make sure he won’t trip on himself and send it flying (he never has the patience to make something twice).

And he doesn’t even think about it, because he’s been practicing for so long, it’s like a natural response, like muscle memory, as he drops down on one knee in one smooth movement. But he looks up when he hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Jemma?” She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something, but he waits a few more seconds and she doesn’t speak. “Hold on,” he repeats, and then quickly redos his lace. His fingers are still not that quick, even after all this time, but he manages it fast enough. “Sorry,” he says, as he gets up. “Shoelace undone.”

There’s a flash of something on her face, but Jemma blinks and then she’s nodding and turning back to the kitchen. “How did that get untied?” she asks.

“Must have been when we were sitting down—snagged on a box corner, or something.”

“Right, right...” Her back is still to him as she goes to open up the fridge.

“Is it your turn to make something?” Fitz wonders. He’s lost count. Usually he tries to cook and Jemma takes over. Her mind must have been on the same path, because she turns to look at him with a smile, and he knows she’s suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

“Isn’t it always?”

(Lance comes in, later, when they’ve finished, and complains to Bobbi that she was never that helpful in the kitchen. Bobbi replies that it’s just another reason that they’re not together anymore. Fitz tries not to snort at Lance’s dubious expression. Yeah, he’s _so_ not over her.)

\-------------------

**Two More Days**

He’s in his room, getting ready for the day, shuffling about in circles. Two more days. Two more days. His eyes follow his feet as he takes one step at a time, stopping in front of the nightstand. There’s a few pictures—of him and his mum, his team, pictures of him from various times of his life. And Jemma. Mostly Jemma. She’s embarrassed by this one he has, where her eyes are closed because she’s laughing so hard, so she’s shoved it in the back of the rest of them. He picks it up and smiles fondly, because he can, and he’s a sap, and good _Lord_ , there’s still two more days.

He’s still trying to figure out what _exactly_ to say; the problem is that he doesn’t want to repeat himself, doesn’t want to say something generic about how he couldn’t live without her, blah blah blah. But how can he say ‘I love you’ in a new way? After everything they’ve been through, all that they’ve said to each other, how was he going to come up with something that made it clear he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her?

 Maybe he should be happy there’s still two more days.

Oh, bloody hell. There was only two more days. How was he going to be ready?????

On top of the wording, he doesn’t know when he’s supposed to ask. Do you go on your knee, give the speech, and then ask? Or is it talk, kneel, ask? Kneel, ask, explain? Maybe—

A loud gasp alerts him, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s down on one knee. When he whips his head around, he notices it’s only Skye.

“Skye!” Fitz calls, an octave too high. He gets up immediately, mentally kicking himself for subconsciously getting down on his knee while he was deep in thought (he’d been practicing for a few weeks now, trying to get the fluidity of it all). “I was just—well, and I—“

Skye has her hands over her mouth, but she doesn’t seem to be breathing. She also doesn’t move an inch from standing in the middle of the doorway.

“Skye?” he tries again, and sighs when she still hasn’t moved. “Are you—“

“Fitz?” he hears from somewhere outside of the room, and seconds later Jemma appears behind Skye. “Oh, hello, Skye. What are you doing here?”

Skye turns to look at Jemma, but instead of snapping out of her trance, her eyes widen even more, and then she scoots back to let Jemma into the room. Jemma slips by, glancing at her wearily. She opens her mouth to ask Fitz something, but then turns back around when Skye lets out another squeak. “Are you alright, Skye?” she asks.

Skye drops her hands and nods, grinning widely. “I’m great. Don’t let me interrupt… whatever’s going on here.”

Jemma glances at her curiously, before looking at Fitz again. “Are you going to be testing the— I’m sorry, did you want to talk to Fitz, Skye? You didn’t answer my question from before.”

“No, she was just—“ Fitz assures Jemma.

“Actually,” Skye says, and Fitz shuts his mouth in surprise. “I _did_ want to talk to Fitz about something.” She pulls out her tablet from under her arm. “Can you help me for a sec, Fitz? I’ve been trying to crack this security feed, and I’m not getting anywhere. Can you take a look at it?”

“Er, sure,” he says, and he doesn’t try to hide his confusion. Skye can’t crack a security feed? Since when? “I’ll meet you in the lab,” he tells Jemma, giving her a peck on the forehead. She gives him a smile and a nod. Skye waits until he’s next to her to start walking, looking over her shoulder once or twice.

He doesn’t really know where he thought she would bring him, but definitely _not_ a supply closet .

“What the hell, Skye?” he all but hisses when she closes the door behind them and turns on the light.

“Did I just ruin the proposal?” she says instead, practically jumping up and down.

Fitz opens his mouth. “ _What_!!!?”

“In your room,” she clarifies. “Just a second ago. You were going to propose, weren’t you?”

He shakes his head so fast, he swears he hears something snap in his neck. “What? No! Why would you think I was going to _propose_?”

“I have to admit, I thought you’d at least take her out or something, have roses around, but whatever. You guys have your own quirks, I get it.”

“No, no, no, you _don’t_ get it, Skye, because there’s nothing _to_ get. What are you talking about?”

Skye puts her hands on her hips and leans towards him to stare him right in the eye. Even though he’s taller than her, he feels himself cowering. “I’m talking about you getting down on one knee in the most graceful move I’ve ever seen. Are you telling me you _weren’t_ planning on proposing?”

“No! I mean,” he amends, shrugging his shoulders, “at least, not right _now_ —“ She screeches and he covers his ears. “Ow! Skye!”

“I _knew_ it! You were totally waiting for her to walk into your room, weren’t you? You are so cheesy, did you know that? And you should have closed the door if you didn’t want anyone to randomly walk by and see, you idiot.”

She rambles on but Fitz is not listening. Nope, he doesn’t hear a single word she’s saying. And if he’s blushing, it’s because it’s really hot in the closet, and not because he’s totally mortified that _someone saw him practicing_.

“When are you going to do it? Where? The lab? Oh my gosh, YOU COULD PUT THE RING UNDER A MICROSCOPE AND HAVE HER SEE IT. I am _clearly_ a genius—“

“The ring would never fit under a microscope, Skye,” he tells her with a bit of a glare. “It’s too big. She’d see what it was before even looking through the eye piece. _What,_ Skye? Why do you always make that face?” She’s doing that thing where she’s covering her mouth in glee again, and Fitz is losing his patience. Jemma’s waiting for him.

“You already have the ring?” she all but whispers, ignoring his comment, and when he nods, she throws her arms around his neck. “I AM SO EXCITED!”

“Skye, for the love of all—“ but he finds himself wrapping his arms around her anyway, when he realizes that she’s the first person who knows about his plans and he can talk to about them. So he can’t help but get a little giddy himself. “Why are you so excited? It hasn’t happened yet.”

She pulls back to look at him, and gives him a wide smile, showing her teeth. “But it’s going to. And it’s going to be amazing.”

He smiles back, giving her a weak shrug. “I’m hoping it’ll be.”

“It will be. Trust me. And if you’re still thinking about how to do it, I have a few ideas.”

“If any of them include the song _My Heart Will Go On_ , I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re a buzzkill, Leopold Fitz. Jemma is a brave woman for sticking with you for this long.”

“Don’t I know it.”

(She eventually cons him into showing her the ring—which he has in a box in a drawer of Mack’s tool kit on the Bus—and he physically has to cover her mouth to keep her from squealing again. She tells him the ring will make up for him being such a buzzkill. He hopes Jemma agrees.)


	2. 1, 0

**One More Day**

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hunter says, with as cheerful of an expression as the cat on the mug he’s holding, “but isn’t there some rule about no food in the laboratory?”

 “Given the current circumstances, there’s not much choice we have,” Jemma informs him, as she adjusts the gas on the Bunsen burner.

“You are more than welcome to leave if it bothers you,” Bobbi tells him mockingly sweet, which only makes Hunter’s frown deepen. He sets down the mug on the nearest table, picks up a flashlight, and heads for the door, muttering, “I know when I’m not wanted.” Bobbi smiles in fond exasperation before getting up from Jemma’s side to walk around the lab.

They were in the middle of making dinner when a horrendous storm knocked most of the power out, including everything in the kitchen. Only the control center, the director’s office, and the lab had working electricity. Mack had volunteered to take a few agents to fix the problem, so Fitz had opted out to stay in the lab and help Jemma with dinner, using all kinds of lab methods that were, as Hunter had pointed out, usually discouraged. But hungry stomachs called for rule breaking.

“Skye, could you hand me a ring stand with a clamp? I think there’s one on my desk.”

Skye starts to pick up various bits of papers. “Shesh, Jemma, you’re kind of a slob.”

“I am not! Oh, sorry,” she winces when her sudden indignant jump caused Fitz to almost drop the Bunsen burner. “I’ve been working on a few things and haven’t had decent time to file paper work, is all,” she defends. When Fitz snorts, she scowls at him. Skye finally finds the clamp and brings it over to Jemma, who uses it to hold up another plate of food over a burner.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Bobbi asks randomly, standing next to a desk in the corner of the room where they keep general log books of supplies. Jemma tilts her head. “On tomorrow’s date, you have a heart and the number 14 written down. Special day?” Bobbi adds, grinning mischievously. Skye immediately gets up and rushes to Bobbi’s side, snatching what looks like Jemma’s planner from the other agent, her smile splitting her face.  

Fitz looks at Jemma curiously; he knows what the 14 is, but the heart? She wouldn’t have publically marked their holiday on her planner, would she? He can’t make out the expression on her face before she turns to the other two. “Oh!” Jemma says when she sees the planner in Skye’s hand. “The heart is for my mum’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Aww,” Bobbi and Skye chorus together. “You’re adorable,” Bobbi coos as Skye asks, “are you going to do anything for her?”

“I’m going to call her. I’ve already sent her a card and told my dad to pick up flowers from me on his way home from work. Actually, Fitz,” she says, facing him again. “My dad said you called him the other day?”

Fitz straightens. “Uh, yeah, I did. I was asking for your address so I could send your mum the watch I made her. You were busy,” he hastens to add when she looks ready to counter. Even though he didn’t mess up once (practice makes perfect, after all), the words were still a little more rushed than he’d have preferred. Hopefully no one picked up on his voice going an octave higher.

It was probably just his imagination that Bobbi’s and Skye’s grins were just a little too bright.

“What’s with the 14?” Skye inquires, arching a brow.

Fitz doesn’t look at Jemma for this question, because he doesn’t want to give away the fact that he’s holding his breath. He knows what it means. It’s kind of part of his plan, after all.

“It’s,” Jemma starts, then clears her throat, and from the corner of his eye, he sees her tuck her hair behind her ear. “It’s the 14th anniversary of when Fitz and I were paired up as lab partners.”

There’s a significant pause (in which Fitz looks anywhere but at a human), and then Bobbi breaks the silence with, “That’s so sweet that you remember the day you became best friends.”

Jemma lets out a bark of laughter, and then covers her mouth. Fitz shakes his head, although he’s smiling. _Here she goes_. “Oh, no, we didn’t become friends when we were paired up. We didn’t get along at first.”

Bobbi looks skeptical, narrowing her eyes. “Then why mark it?”

“Because I called my mum, and instead of talking about her birthday, I complained about my awful, terrible—“

“Hey!”

“—lab partner instead. The next year when I called, when Fitz and I were proper friends, she reminded me about it, so,” Jemma shrugs. “I’ve just always remembered it from then on.”

“And for the record,” Fitz feels the need to add, because Bobbi and Skye look far too pleased with her explanation. “I was only an _awful, terrible_ lab partner because she was intimidating.” To Jemma: “It’s your own bloody fault we didn’t get on right away.”

“ _My_ fault? Did I intimidate you with my _smile_?”

“You didn’t let me get a word in! You kept going on—“

“Oh, _please_ , I had to talk to fill the awkward silence.”

“You were—“

“Jemma!” Skye cries suddenly and leaps forward just as the plate of chicken bursts into flames. Skye manages to grab the Bunsen burner at the same time that Bobbi reaches over and turns off the gas. The two field agents sigh, glance at each other, and then give pointed looks to the two scientists, who are donning sheepish grins. Fitz points to Jemma.

“Story time’s over,” Skye says, examining the plate of food. “Who ordered the burnt chicken?”

“Let’s give it to Hunter.”

Jemma lets out a laugh. “Fitz, could you go get some knives? I think I’ll be able to cook some of this better if it were in pieces.” He nods and starts for the door.

“I’ll go with him!” Skye announces, and she skips past him and into the hallway before Fitz can say a word about it. She is, as he expects, waiting for him when he rounds the corner, and he bites his lip to keep from cursing when he sees the look in her eyes.

“ _Skye_ —“

“You’re going to do it tomorrow, right?” she says, practically bouncing.  “Because of your anniversary.” Skye walks backwards in front of him, so she sees him falter in his step. She grins. “When are you going to do it? Where? Oh my god, _are you going to do it in the lab???_ ” She covers her mouth, but it does nothing to deter the squeals she’s making. “Are you going to ask her in the lab, because that’s where you guys became lab partners, and now you could become _life_ partners?” Skye snorts. “Wow, that was cheesy. It was almost as bad as something you’d come up with. But seriously, am I right?”

He feels the heat creeping up on the back of his neck, but he ignores it like he ignores Skye and picks up his pace to walk in front of her. Truthfully, though, he’s not sure if he’s doing it to prove a point or if he’s really just speechless. How does Skye keep figuring these things out? Stupid field agent senses.

“How are you going to do it?” she goes on, completely unmoved by his silence. “Oh! You could spell out the words by using the periodic table! Or you could write the words on her goggles, so when she puts them on, she sees it! Or—“

It’s a wonder, really, how Skye manages to go on any mission and not ruin it, because she has no mute button. She’s not only skipping and swinging her arms, but with every bounce of her foot, she seems to get _louder_. Frantically, he grabs her hand and pulls her to a stop right in front of the kitchen.

“Skye,” he hisses. “Shut. Up.”

“I will as soon as you acknowledge my good ideas.”

“I will as soon as you provide some!” he counters.

She looks affronted. “Hey! Those were some pretty good ones! And I have a limited list to work from, because you’ve eliminated anything with the most epic proposal song of all time—“

“Spelling it out with the periodic table? She has 2 PhD’s, Skye. And she’d murder me if I wrote on her goggles.”

“Well, sor _ry_. How about a crossword puzzle with famous scientists—“

Fitz knows a lost cause when he sees one, so he just groans and walks away. “Come on, Fitz,” she whines. She grabs a candle off the counter (they’d run out of flashlights) and holds it above him so he can see the knives. “You need my help.”

“He needs your help with what?” Fitz almost jumps at the sound of Hunter’s voice. Had he been there the whole time? Hunter makes his way over to Fitz’s side. “Is the food almost ready?”

Skye glares at him. “Almost, no thanks to you.” Ignoring Hunter’s protests, Skye takes a step so she’s in between the two men. “Fitz,” she starts softly, “as Jemma’s second best friend—and yours, actually—I am obligated—“

“Is she trying to give you girl advice, is that what this is?” Hunter interrupts, stepping closer so he’s looming over Skye’s shoulder. In the candle light, his face looks oddly disoriented. “Don’t listen to her, mate. I know her type, she’ll only lead you down the path of ruin.”

“My type? How would you know anything about my type?”

“I made the mistake of marrying one, didn’t I?”

“And lead him down the path of ruin? Are you nuts? _You’re_ the one that took the path of ruin by yourself.”

“I’ll have you know—“

“Guys!” Fitz snaps. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I can do it by myself.” He scoops up a few knives in one hand, and he’s halfway across the room when he hears, “No need to get fussy” and “ _rude_.” It’s the first time in a while that they’ve agreed on something, so maybe he should feel special for being the one thing that brought them together, but he’s just annoyed (Skye knows too much and Hunter only thinks he does. It’s a mess all around).

Jemma manages to salvage enough of the chicken and Bobbi makes fairly decent baked-by-Bunsen-burner-potatoes; it’s not the best meal they’ve ever had, but it’s definitely not the worst. They take everything to the kitchen and eat by candle light. It’s rather peaceful, really, until Bobbi comments on the romantic atmosphere of the room and Hunter feels compelled to share his thoughts on the subject.

“Women always feel the need to romantize everything. Why can’t candles just be a light source without having a feeling attached to them?”

“Why can’t you ever just keep your mouth shut?” Bobbi counters, and even the corners of May’s lips turn upward.  

Hunter looks like he’s about to give another thrilling response, when the lights turn on and the whole room sighs. “It’s about bloody time,” he mutters, and proceeds to blow out every candle.

“I kind of liked the candles,” Coulson says. “Definitely felt cozier.”

Bobbi shoots Hunter a look, pointing to the director. “See? Men add feelings to candles, too. No offense, sir.”

“None taken,” he says, standing to his feet, with May close behind. “Hunter is just afraid of feelings,” he adds as he and May walk to the sink. Hunter is clearly deeply offended, opening and closing his mouth like a faulty drawbridge.

Everyone laughs, Skye almost choking on her fork. “I’m not afraid of them, I just don’t see the use of them,” he clarifies, but his voice is drowned out by another wave of laughter. He waits until they stop. “I’m just saying, if a pair have to resort to candles and flowers and other nonsense of the sort to set a romantic mood, there’s obviously something lacking in their relationship. Personal charm and wit is all you ever really need.”

“And _I’m_ just saying, you think you’re a lot more charming than you actually are,” Bobbi interjects, and Skye wastes no time in calling _ooohh, burn!_ “Fitz, what do you think?” Bobbi suddenly says, leaning over the table so she can look at him.

He hadn’t expected to be thrown into the conversation like that, so his mouth is full. He manages to swallow a chunk of potato with only a small grimace before replying, “what?”

“You don’t think flowers and candles are overrated, do you?”

The whole table is now looking at him, so he does what he usually does in these types of situations and turns to Jemma. She’s smiling encouragingly. “I guess at the, um, proper time and place, they’re not so bad,” he manages.

Hunter groans, shaking his head, which only makes Bobbi grin wider. “Proper time and place, huh? Like birthdays, holidays…. Anniversaries, maybe?”

Fitz shrugs. “I suppose, yeah. It depends on the person, I think—“

“Would you consider yourself a flower and candle kind of guy?”

He’s suddenly aware that he’s being interrogated, and it’s rather nerve-wracking, mostly because it feels like a trap. Blush is creeping up the back of his neck, so he brings a hand up to rub it. “Me? I’m, uh…I can be, I suppose, but… I usually just make things instead,” he finishes.

 “Oh, right! Like the necklace. _Super_ pretty,” Bobbi says. “What else have you made Jemma?”

“Well… I’m working on a new lens for her microscope, with an x-ray component—“

“I meant jewelry,” Bobbi specifies.

“Oh. Um… earrings, once,” he says, pointing vaguely at Jemma. “But they take a while, because fake silver irritates—“

“Anything else?”

Fitz stares at Bobbi, narrowing his eyes. Generally the agent has more tact in her attempts of pulling information from people, but she sounds flat out desperate for his answers at this point. It’s Hunter who finally responses.

“You’re awfully nosey, aren’t you? Stop using your voodoo magic on him, the poor bloke’s already had to face your cooking.”

“What’s wrong with my cooking? You just ate three potatoes.”

“I was bloody well starving, I’d have eaten my own limb.”

And they start bickering again, effectively freeing Fitz from Bobbi’s all-seeing eyes. He gives Jemma a bewildered expression, to which she just smiles. Skye steals her attention then, so he goes back to eating. Mack eventually comes in and sits next to Fitz, complaining about how, even with his bad hands, Fitz is still much faster than any other agent. It’s when Mack asks him if he would be willing to lend him a hand in the garage one of these days that Fitz remembers something.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, and then scoots his chair closer to Jemma. “Jem, can I talk to you for a minute?” he whispers in her ear, nuzzling her cheek. She raises her eyebrows, and pushes away from the table. He starts to walk, but she reaches out and snags his hand, pulling him back until he’s by her side again.

“Oy! Come on! I just ate,” Hunter grumbles, using his fork to point to their hands. “None of this lovey-dovey stuff, alright? I’m gonna be sick.”

Fitz can physically feel several pairs of eyes rolling then, and he’s sure he’d be doing the same, but he’s too busy being dragged away by Jemma. She gives him a beaming smile once she pulls him out into the hallway, and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to get used to that—to seeing her light up because of him. He knows he’s always going to marvel at that, always going to wonder how he got so lucky to be the one getting those smiles. It’s not like she never used to smile at him before, of course. But falling in love with her was like rereading his favorite book; he still had dog-eared his favorite parts, knew them so well, but was still discovering new parts he missed the first time around. Her smiles are one of those things he is pleased to find had become an old comfort and a new favorite at the same time.

He starts to speak, but Jemma tugs him along a little farther until they’re in a darkened corner of the hallway. And then she’s fisting his shirt and shoving him forward until his back hits the wall.

Her mouth slots against his. His hands instinctively grip her hips as hers come up to wrap around his neck. When she licks his lip, there’s a vague thought in the back of his head of how Hunter would now actually have something to get sick over, but it’s literally the smallest, most fleeting thought he’s ever had in his life; in fact, his mind is blank after that, except for _Jemma_ , especially as she curls her fingers into the hair on the nape of his neck and angles his mouth to deepen the kiss.

When she pulls back, they’re both panting; she leans to press her forehead to his, but he starts to trail his lips down her jaw. Jemma uses the belt loops on his pants to draw him flush up against her, and he groans.  “Fitz?” she manages, voice strained.

“Hmm?”

Jemma sighs, dropping her hands from around him to clench his shirt when he starts nipping at the skin of her neck. “What did you want to talk about?”

Fitz brings his hands up to cup her jaw, holding her in place while he presses slow, languid kisses to her lips. “Later,” he replies, trying to open her mouth again. Her smile is so wide against his mouth, he keeps bumping into her nose trying to lean in to properly kiss her, so he drops his forehead to hers and stares into eyes that are mostly just pupils at this point.  

“Room?” she asks softly.

“Mmmhmm,” he hums, but it’s when she starts to move again and he’s not completely tangled up in her that he remembers. “Ah, wait.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. It’s definitely a struggle to get the right neurons firing, but eventually he starts fishing around in his pockets. Which one did he put it in? He’s swatting at his clothes as Jemma steps back. When he eventually pulls out a pair of keys, she eyes them questioningly. “For tomorrow,” he answers.

“You wanted to ask me about keys?”

“Yeah—no. I mean, not exactly. I was going to ask when you wanted to leave, because Coulson said he wants to know when to set off the perimeter alarms.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, right, that makes sense,” she finally says after a few beats.

“I wonder what he’s told them,” he says, thinking out loud. “About us leaving. May knows, obviously. But it’ll be hard to cover up our absence from the lab, I think… Jem?” He wonders why she’s frowning all of a sudden. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just thinking,” she replies. Her fingers smooth out the material of his collar while her eyes are fixed somewhere over his shoulder. He would turn if he didn’t know for a fact that it’s just a brick wall.

“What?” It’s still dark in this hallway, with limited windows for any moonlight, but even he can see she’s concentrating on something. She also still hasn’t answered the question. He brings a hand up to brush her hair from her face, dread seeping into him. “Do you… Do you not want to go?”

“No!” she replies instantly, shaking her head. “I want to go, of course. It’s just… you’ve been acting strange lately.”

This is not at all what he had thought she’d say. “What do you mean?”

Jemma bites her lip. “I don’t know, you’ve just been… off this week, I can’t explain it.”

Fitz widens his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he says after a beat.

Jemma shakes her head eventually and waves a dismissive hand. “Never mind—“

“No, tell me, Jemma.”

“I don’t know, it’s just…” and she sighs, but then she reaches forward and snakes her arms around his waist, hugging him close; he returns the gesture immediately, if not a bit hesitant and confused at first. “It’s been a very long couple of days,” she mumbles against his shoulder. “I’m exhausted. Tomorrow couldn’t have come fast enough.”

She had no idea. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, rubbing up and down her back softly. “About your week— or me? Please, Jem, if I’m frustrating you—“

“You always frustrate me.”

“You know what I mean.”

She untangles herself from the circle of his arms, and he’s apprehensive to see her expression at first, but she’s smiling and it seems genuine. “I’m fine, just a tad drained. But I’m glad we’re going. How about 9:30? That’s enough sleeping in time.”

“For _you_.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you wanted to set the time, you shouldn’t have asked me.”

“True. I guess 9:30 is okay. If I go to sleep right now.”

“Right now?” she asks, and there’s a warmth to her grin that’s catching.

“Hmm. No, you’re right; I still have to clean my desk, and sharpen my pencils—“

He thought she’d either scoff at him or kiss him, and somehow it’s a a pleasant surprise and oddly endearing when she does both.  

(It’s strange; he’s always heard that love is like a scorching fire, burning nerves and igniting passions. But when she smiles, it’s more like a comforting glow, like a cup of tea that warms, a soft embrace that’s reassuring and unassuming. He likes it better that way; instead of consuming him, he can embrace it. And he can wholeheartedly embrace doing things that would _definitely_ make Hunter sick.)

\-----------------------------------------------------

**The Day (!!!!!!!!)**

Jemma lets out a groan while she grabs his shoulder. “Hold still,” she tells him, and he laughs. She scowls at both him and the offending shoes on her feet. “Now I remember why these were in the back of my closet. I never wear heels enough to break them in, but there’s hardly any reason for me to wear them in the first place,” she explains. “I’m always in the lab, and they’re impractical in there.”

“You could wear them in the lab,” Fitz insists, a hand on her waist. When she looks up questioningly, he shrugs. “It’s easier to kiss you this way,” he tells her, and leans in a considerably smaller distance than usual to peck the corner of her mouth and prove his point.

Jemma scoffs. “You are not that much taller than me, Fitz.” She slips out of the shoes and sighs in relief. “If we were kissing in the Academy, the height difference between us would not have been a problem.” When he sulks, she laughs. “The jokes go both ways, Dr. Fitzy. You brought it on yourself.”

“I wasn’t calling you short.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I don’t think it’s a problem. The height difference, I mean.”

“I know, I’m teasing,” and she steps up on her toes to kiss his cheek. She glances around at their surroundings, her eyes calculating. “Would it be entirely inappropriate to walk bare foot in the base?”

“I don’t think so.”

She takes that as enough confirmation and reaches for his hand. “Hi,” she says softly, looking up at him.

He returns her grin. “Hi.”

“What do you want to do now?”

His fingers tightened around the ring that is still in his pocket, and he thinks, _well_ …

(He almost does it three times that day.

The first when they’re at lunch—“Suit and Thai, how original”—and she’d stepped out on the balcony to call her mum. She’s stunning in that moment, in the sunlight that’s somehow even less radiant than she is, and he thinks he might as well ask right now. He goes to get down on one knee, reaching into his pocket—but he’d left the ring in his jacket, which is still draped behind his chair at their table. He straightens up, taking a step towards it, but she grabs a hold of his arm at the last second and proceeds to give him a detailed rundown of her phone conversation. So he doesn’t ask.

The second is when they’re in a garden near the Whitehouse, and she’s the most alive thing around, and it’s not just because the flowers only just starting to bloom. The beauty of life is that it’s filled with science, and maybe that’s why it’s always enthralled her—she points to the mostly barren trees as if they’re stock full of petals and wonder and it’s like she can see the potential in them before it’s actually there. So he figures now is as good a time as any, when she’s so incredibly lovely, laughing about getting flowers for Hunter—“he’d get the joke!—when he checks the ground to make sure he can kneel down… but then a couple come up and ask her for directions. Of course. They could ask anyone around, but they pick Jemma. And because she’s her, she’s going to try and help them out, even though this is the first time she’s ever been here. By the time they leave, he’s a little annoyed and the moments ruined, so he doesn’t ask.

The last time is actually where he’d planned to do it anyway, at the bottom of the Lincoln Memorial steps, the colors of the sky, as the name suggests, reflecting off the pool of water next to it. She’s going on about the history of the place, adding her own personal commentary—“for the last couple of years, the most popular attraction of the place has been sightings of Steve Rogers running. Huge crowds started to form and follow him around, however, so he stopped. Well, that and he had to save the world.” To which Fitz adds, “I wonder if Coulson was ever in those crowds.”— and he’s going to do it, really, he is… Except a voice in his head, that sounds oddly like a mix between his mum and Coulson (who’s scowling at his previous comment) reminds him that this is technically her holiday. It seems almost selfish, really, to interrupt her enjoying her day just so he can be the happiest man in existence. And although he’ll never, ever, ever in his life admit it to Skye, she has a point about the lab—it’s _their_ space, and this memorial spot isn’t. Not that it’s not special or anything, but proposals are supposed to be personal, and something tells him, this time in a voice like Skye’s, that Jemma would rather be asked surrounded by infectious bacteria than random strangers. So he doesn’t ask.)

But she’s set it up so nicely for him now, and all he has to do is make up some pretense about going to the lab. Heart pounding against his ribs so much, he thinks he might bruise, he tries to steady his breath and hands. “I actually wanted to check…. Something. In the lab. Do you want to come with me?”

Jemma looks as convinced as he sounded. “Yes, alright,” she response anyway, and takes his hand. They’ve barely taken a step when she tugs him to a stop. “Actually, I have something for you over here.” Fitz tilts his head, but she simply grins back. “Close your eyes,” she instructs quickly, and she covers his eyes before he can protest. “Keep them closed…” He hears her shuffling away.

“Are you leaving?”

“No. Just give me a moment. Don’t peek!” she says when his eyelids flutter. She sounds close… but oddly far away. Almost like—

“Okay, open.”

And when he does, his eyes go wide and his jaw falls open. “Jemma,” he starts to say, and there’s that smug, clever look in her eye, and she’s down on one knee—

“Leopold Fitz,” she says, reaching out for his hand; at the same time he shrills, “are you… _proposing_ to me?!?”

“Trying to,” she replies, but he yanks his hand out of reach.

“Wha—No! Jemma, what are you doing?”

“I just told you,” she says, and she shuffles closer to him, but her dress is making it difficult; she practically falls over herself every time she moves. Fitz puts his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Come on, Jemma, don’t do that—you’ll ruin your dress and then blame it on me.”

But all she does is try to take his hand in hers, so he swipes it back. “Fitz,” she starts, smiling at him, stumbling some more. “Just let me ask and I’ll get up—“

“No! This was _my_ proposal!” he objects incredulously.

“And now it’s mine,” she says easily, reaching forward again. “Leo—“

But he’s got her now, and he drops to one knee, too, all those weeks of practice finally going to use. They’re holding onto each other’s hands, and it’s not quite clear who’s got the more appropriate position for proposing as they’re both gripping each other tight so the other can’t pull away.

“Fitz,” Jemma says, and she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Don’t ruin this.”

“I’m not ruining it, _you’re_ ruining it. I had a plan!”

“Well, you’ve had plenty of opportunities already. It’s my turn,” she tells him, giving him a look.

“What do you mean?”

For the first time since she’s gotten down on her knee, Jemma’s smile falters. “I’m not completely dense, Fitz. I know what you’ve been doing.” He’s so confused, he can’t even find words to reply; she rolls her eyes. “You’ve been a bloody tease, and I don’t really appreciate it. It’s made me an anxious mess this whole week.”

“ _What?_ ”

There is a determination in her eyes that he only really sees when she’s about to crack a problem. It’s bewildering to think that _he’s_ the problem in this case. “When you told me you wanted to take me out, I knew you were planning something along the lines of a proposal. You’re not really subtle.”

“I beg to differ,” he interjects. “I’ve been less subtle in the past and you didn’t notice.”

She looks thoughtful, and then nods. “True, but only because I didn’t know how to read the signs before. You know I never make the same mistake twice.”

Touché. “You knew? You knew this entire time?”

She stares at him pointedly. “Well, I _thought_ I did.” And in true Jemma form, she goes right into an explanation; “The first night, when you got up to find your watch—you had swooped down on one knee right in front of me and ducked for something under your bed. I thought you’d hidden the ring there! And then,” she starts, looking at a point over his shoulder, “you bring up a second holiday, saying we’ll go somewhere warm, and I immediately think of a honeymoon—which didn’t make much sense to me because we’re both not particularly fond of sandy beaches.”

Jemma fixes her gaze on him then, as if waiting for him to agree with her observation, but he is still trying to process everything since he first opened his eyes and saw her on her knee. “And then in the middle of discussing rings, of discussing you _making_ rings, you fall down to your knee again… _to tie your shoe_.” She rolls her eyes. “And yesterday, when Bobbi tried to weasel a confession out of you, you’re completely unmoved by it—“

“I _knew_ she was laying it on thick,” Fitz says when he finally snaps back into reality. “Talk about not being subtle.”

Jemma half heartedly smiles. “That may have been my fault; I told her you were rather oblivious.”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes as he replays the night before again in his head. He’s about to object, when a different thought pops into his head. “Is that—is this what you meant when you said I’d been acting strange? You thought I was pulling a prank on you?” When she nods, he feels like shattering. “Jemma, I would never. I mean, maybe with something else, but not- not _this_. ”

“I know,” she says, almost fondly. “Which is why I finally came to the conclusion last night that I was just imagining that you were going to ask, because I _wanted_ you to ask—“

“You wanted me to ask?” It dawns on him that he never knew for sure if she would even say yes, but he also never thought about what he’d do if she didn’t. So he can’t help if he sounds a bit surprised.

Jemma, though, looks exasperated. “Fitz, I don’t know how many hints I’ve given you—“

“Hints? _Hints_?? No, no, no, there was _one_ hint, maybe, if I _squinted_ —“

“Honestly, I couldn’t have been more obvious about it if I’d said, ‘I want to get married.’”

Fitz nods so rapidly, he knows his neck is going to be sore tomorrow. “Yes. Yes, you definitely could have. In fact, you should have _started_ with that—“

“I was going to confront you about it yesterday,” Jemma goes on, ignoring him. “But then I realized, if I wanted something done, I could do it myself.” With that, she gives a nod, whether to him or herself, he isn’t sure. She loses her balance a little then, still only on one knee, so she drops the other one down to steady herself.

“Jemma,” he starts, squeezing her hands. “I know this is unbelievable, but I swear all of that was a coincidence. You give me far too much credit; I wouldn’t have waited until now if I’d known.”

She smiles affectionately, squeezing his fingers back. “Can I ask you something?” she says then, and he shakes his head. “No, I won’t—it’s not that, I promise,” she says with a laugh. “Did you ever think that we’d be here?” He looks around at the room. “No, I meant 14 years ago, Fitz. When we were paired up as lab partners, did you think we’d ever end up here? Together?”

The question throws him off guard; he lets down his other knee, sitting on the heels of his shoes and really considers it. “To be honest, I was more concerned with finding something clever to say than thinking about the future, so, no, I can’t say that I did,” he eventually responds. “Why? Did you?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “I don’t mean that rudely,” she adds apologetically, and he grins, “but I really didn’t think we’d even ever become friends, the way that first day went.” He lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m serious! I was thinking about it today, because of the day and all, and it dawned on me just how far we’ve come. The last three years have been… _interesting_ , to say the least,” she says, snorting at her own words. “I mean, three years ago today, we were battling HYRDA, the year after, I was _at_ HYDRA…” She’s oddly solemn then, and he searches her face while she keeps her eyes on their entwined fingers. “And last year, we were relearning how to be around each other again,” she finishes quietly.

He doesn’t like that she’s going there, going to where they were so unsure of one another; it had been like drowning on air, on empty silence that echoed too loudly. “And this year we’re arguing over who gets to pop the question,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. She looks up and smiles a bit, nodding.

“What I’m trying to get at,” Jemma says, “is that my life has not gone at all the way I thought it would. It has been a mess half the time, and terrifying and exciting and horrific and wonderful the other half… But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we’re here, Fitz. And I know that’s not what you meant before, but I thought you should know. That I’m glad that we were paired up, and that we’re here,” she looks around the garage, “sitting on the floor, thwarting each other’s plans. That we’re still partners, even after everything.”

He is not expecting her heartbreakingly tender words, or the truth behind them. _Even after everything_. Both of them are worlds apart from who they were when they’d met 14 years ago. He used to think change was inescapable, but what he has with Jemma is timeless. They might have forgotten that for a bit, but it’s like she said—it’s not a coincidence that they’re here. They worked so hard to get to this, to find comfort in silences again, to know that they’re capable on their own but prefer being together. It’s not the same as before, of course, but if this is what different looks like, different is not so bad after all. It’s great, even. Fantastic. Sometimes messy. But different is worth it. She’s worth it. He knows he could sit there for another year and still not find the right words to say, so instead he says the first thing that comes to mind. “I love you.”

She beams at him, shuffling forward until their knees touch. “I love you, too.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Jemma bites her lip shyly. “You’ll always be my best friend, but I’m glad that you’re more than that, too.”

Fitz lets out an exaggerated sigh. “First you’re stealing my proposal, and now you’re stealing my words. What am I going to do with you, Jemma Simmons?” When all she does is smile some more, he sighs again. “You drive me insane, did you know that? I had an entire speech planned out, practiced it for ages and everything, and now I can’t remember a word of it.”

“I would have loved to hear it.”

“No, I don’t think so. It was kind of cheesy.” Jemma laughs and he grins impossibly wide. “All I really wanted to tell you was that you’re amazing, and beautiful, and that I love you. I do—I love you so much, Jemma. I am so lucky to be in love with you.” Fitz releases her hands and leans forward so he can cup her face. She grips his wrists to keep him there, and she’s looking at him with so much affection, it almost hurts. “You are it for me. You’re everything. I can’t promise that I’ll always make you happy or keep you safe, or that I won’t fight with you or frustrate you, but I can guarantee that I’ll fall more in love with you every day.” He shrugs. “And I’ll try with the other stuff, too.”

She lets out a weak laugh, most of it swallowed up when she takes a breath. “You’re right,” she says, voice thick. “That was cheesy.”

“No, _that_ was nothing. You have no idea. I think I might have even had a pun about us having chemistry in the other one.”

“Really? Now I’m definitely sad I missed it.”

“It’s your fault.”

“You’re probably right. But I loved it anyway. I love you.”

He grins. “Can I please propose to you now?” he pleads.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t just do it,” Jemma retorts. “I’m perfectly entitled to propose.”

“Yeah, of course, I know. But I had a plan, and I want to see it through. I got a ring and everything.”

“I have a ring, too!”

He blinks at her. “Really?”

Wordlessly, they both let go of each other, scrambling to be the first to get the ring out. It’s a tie, if anything. He glances down to see the tasteful gold band she’s gotten for him, and an awe-struck smile flicks across her face when she sees what he’s holding.

The next thing would be to say the words, but they make eye contact and both know it’s going to turn into them shouting over each other, speaking quickly to get it out before the other person, and the whole idea is both comical and preposterous to think about.

So instead he drops the ring onto his lap and treads his fingers into her hair at the same time that she reaches and grips his shoulders as their lips meet. But they’re laughing way too hard— their teeth are clinking and their noses are bumping, and it’s less kissing than it is just laughing on each other’s mouths. But Fitz doesn’t mind; he is addicted to the taste of her laugh.

Somehow they end up sitting next to each other, and they exchange rings and reveal in the absolute absurdity of it all. His arm settles around her waist, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

They still have so much to work on, both together and separately, and sometimes it’s more quarreling than hand-holding, and the world is still in chaos… But he’s in love with Jemma Simmons, the girl who almost outwitted him out of his own proposal and outwits him ninety percent of the time anyway, so it’s okay. They’ll figure out the rest later. They always do.

 (When they finally get up to go to his room, the whole base is completely dark. They think maybe it’s another power outage, but as soon as they walk past the kitchen, the lights turn on and all they can make out is a deafening _CONGRATULATIONS!!!_ before they’re being surrounded. Skye reaches them first and engulfs them both into a hug, and he looks at Jemma as if to ask if this was her doing, but she’s as stunned as he is. There’s balloons and a banner and tiny bits of paper swirling in the air; Fitz tries to wrap his head around it all as he’s being patted on the back and squeezed into hugs, holding Jemma’s hand the entire time. It’s too much to process; all he knows is that he is happy and loved and he can’t feel his face from smiling so much.

It’s not until Skye harasses them about how it all went down that they both realize neither of them actually ever got the words out, ever properly asked. Of course, Skye riots about it, but Fitz thinks it’s as it should have been. They’ve never really needed words anyway.)


End file.
